dig up her bones
by aFigureOfSpeech
Summary: Most people only die once, but Artemis always was one of a kind. [Before, during, and after Depths.]


**Title:** dig up her bones**  
****Word Count:** 8,400  
**Characters/Pairing:** Artemis Crock & cast;sort-of Artemis/Dick, Artemis/Wally, Roy/Jade, Zatanna/Raquel  
**Rating:** T (for some brief language)  
**Disclaimer:** Young Justice does not belong to me, I'm just here to play.  
**Summary: **_Most people only die once, but Artemis always was one of a kind._ [Before, during, and after Depths.]

**Note: **I AM FINALLY DONE! I have literally been writing this off-and-on since right after Depths aired (and subsequently destroyed my soul and my sanity) and now I can finally post the damn thing. Even if there were a few other perspectives I'd have liked to include. Welp. Unbeated, for the most part, so all mistakes are my own. Someday I might fix that.

Jsyk, the pairings are kinda...well let's just say they're mostly canon-compliant, but I ship Traught a whole hell of a lot lol.

Anyways, get ready for the angst pile.

* * *

Artemis knows the plan, knows every step by heart, but that still doesn't quite prepare her to be fake-killed by her fake-traitor friend. There probably isn't anything that could really prepare you for dying, though you'd think she of all people would be. This isn't the first time she's died, after all, and it probably won't be the last.

It feels very different the second time around.

Kaldur looks her straight in the eye as he wraps his water-blade around her ribs _(haha, isn't that funny, water finally did get her in the end)_, and if she didn't know any better she'd think he actually was killing her. His eyes make her want to cry, because they don't belong in the face of her dear friend, of the young man who had led her staunchly for so many years, who had accepted her onto his team that became so much more like her family—her true family. She wants to cry for him because he can't cry for himself, because he was the most noble of them all and he's had to become something terrible in order to save them, and he's had to do it all alone.

_You won't be alone anymore_, she thinks, or maybe she says it out loud—she can't be sure, because she's already bit into the capsule hidden in her mouth and damn, those drugs work fast.

Kaldur's hard face swims away as she stumbles, covering her abdomen and trying to get air into her lungs. Her breath stutters instead, refusing to flow properly; blood rushes through her, high on adrenaline, trying to get somewhere but never quite reaching its destination. Her ears and eyes are full of it—she can't hear and she can't see, she can't even feel her own body, has she fallen yet? She tries not to panic because this is all _part of the plan, dammit_, but she can't feel her body and she's always known exactly what her body is doing at all times for as long as she can remember, and she now she doesn't know where her feet are or her legs or her arms—

No, there are her arms. Briefly, she has arms again, or maybe those are her shoulders, but she can feel them because someone is holding them, she's sure of it. She hears someone—Dick, it has to be Dick_—_say, _Hang on_, but it's hard to tell over her own fluttering heartbeat. She sees him now, face open and terrified and panicking; it's almost comical because now all she feels is peace. She wants to tell him, _get traught bird brain, I'll see you soon_, but she can't feel her lips anymore and for some reason she thinks it would be a bad idea anyway.

There's pressure on her chest now, harsh and rhythmic and insistent; it's counterpoint to the desperate, grasping fingers in her mind—_M'gann?_—but her thoughts are dim and sluggish and far away now. For a moment, she has lips again too, but even that fades away as the darkness welcomes her like an old friend.

* * *

Kaldur has been mentally bracing himself for this from the moment Nightwing proposed the ruse. In a way, he has been preparing for it since the moment he decided to go deep under cover. There was always the possibility, idly threatening and barely thinkable, that one day he would be forced to confront those he once was close to, be forced to choose between his mission and the life of a friend. But think of it he must, for he must think long and hard of every possibility, lest he be caught by surprise and ruin everything in a moment of damning indecision.

There have been nights when just such possible outcomes haunt his waking mind and disturb his scant hours of sleep. At these times, alone in his room and away from the watchful eyes of his biological father and his father's minions, he can allow himself the momentary weakness. In his time on the ship, he has become a master at carefully boxing away his extraneous emotion once he leaves the privacy of his quarters.

The practice aids him now—he hardens his heart and does what he must. Kaldur cannot be entirely certain of his own expression, but Nightwing and Artemis play their roles admirably. Then he knocks Nightwing aside, and it is time. Heart pounding, he allows himself one breath to steel his resolve before he is truly face-to-face with the young woman that everyone must think he has killed. And, essentially, he will have.

He brings her close as he slides his water around her ribs, so that he can look her in the eyes as he takes her life. It's the only penance he can offer her now. Her face goes wide and slack; his thoughts tumble too quickly over one another, each more impossible to say aloud than the last, until there is nothing but an endless litany of _forgivemeforgivemeforgiveme—_

"Welcome back," he says instead, and prays that he sounds cruel rather than conflicted. He thinks he sees words form on her lips, but no sound follows and he pulls away; he has lingered too long already. He cannot bring himself to look away as she falls though, and this, too, is penance. Nighwing catches her, as they agreed, and as the CommSat flies to its intended destination he knows he must move or give himself away completely.

Then everything begins to go wrong—the CommSat should not have exploded, painting the night sky with bright fire. For a moment questions resound through his mind, but there is no time for second guessing; he has been at this too long to slip up now.

He allows himself to look back just once.

* * *

In the end, Dick can't watch it happen. He's been preparing himself since before the idea was even fully formed, but when it came right down to it, he cannot make himself watch the moment when Artemis dies.

It doesn't take much to yell her name though—the whole scenario stands just a little too close to his nightmares to ignore. (In the back of his mind he hears another voice, from another time, the echo of another scream and another death.)

Then he's on his feet, watching her stumble but not fall, never fall, because he won't let her. It almost doesn't feel like pretend to catch her, to lower her gently to the ground; any words of comfort he gives her are really for himself. It almost doesn't feel like pretend to add the fake blood.

The icy pin-pricks creeping up and down his spine don't feel like pretend at all.

He's panicking. Dammit, he's panicking, it's not even real and he's _panicking_. What's the good of training for literally half his life with the goddamn Batman if he can't keep it together when it really matters? Artemis is dying on the beach on front of him and he's trapped in his own indecisive, utterly failable body.

_Focus, Grayson_.

Artemis isn't dying, it's not real, she's just not breathing.

She's not breathing.

She's dying from an abdomen wound but _she's not breathing _and the before he can stop himself he's compressing her chest, counting as he goes.

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…_

He counts out loud but in his head he keeps rhythm with a different mantra: _not dead, not dead, she's not dead, it's not real_. He must tell himself this because despite the fact that he knows exactly what happened, his mind is still fighting a reality disconnect and he can't seem to _think_.

_Focus. _He can use this to his advantage. If he believes that Artemis is dead, convincing the rest of the world will be that much easier.

_…18, 19, 20, 21, 22…_

He tries it out. _Artemis is dying. _Immediately his lungs start to seize up and his debilitating terror returns with a vengeance. This time he lets it happen, pushes it harder—he drags up every half-formed fear, every buried nightmare, every doubt he's ever secretly entertained, and lets it all rise up and wash over him. It all comes down to one unshakable truth: Artemis is dying in his arms and he can't save her.

Superboy and Miss Martian arrive at last, but it is far too late.

"I…I don't hear her heartbeat."

Pure, unadulterated desperation crawls from his gut to coat his throat, settling thick and toxic on his tongue; he keeps counting.

"…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty."

Dick forces air into his lungs, sharp and heavy, leaning forward without hesitation and sealing his lips on hers—once, twice, three times—a last attempt to make her breathe again, even as knows that it won't work. Still, he must try, though the effort leaves him almost breathless, as if her mouth had stolen it from him and left nothing behind. He struggles again for control. (Balanced between the two realities Dick is holding now in his head, there lies the knowledge that if they won't all hate him, _blame _him, for dragging Artemis back into this, for essentially having her blood on his hands, then all hell will certainly break loose when everything is revealed. He focuses instead on the painful stillness of her body.)

"She's dead," he announces; he lets the terrifying concept settle in his bones.

And it is all his fault.

* * *

Every living creature has a particular feel to M'gann's mind. Most come and go in just a brief brush against her consciousness, forms and colors without strong definition. The more familiar the mind, the more she can see. Uncle J'onn she could distinguish instantly in a vast crowd of Martians. Her team she could link together on a moment's notice. Conner fit against her like his hand around hers, soft and tender and strong and always, always just a thought away (until recently, of course, and the lack of him still leaves her off-balance and stumbling, but she tries very hard not to think about that).

And Artemis—Artemis felt like coming home after a long absence, or like finding someplace safe to rest. Artemis felt more like home than Mars ever had, with its ugly hatred and deep-running prejudices. Artemis, her dearest, best friend; she was all the best parts of Mars—the endless sweeps of red sands at twilight, the distant curve of the purple horizon caught from high in the air, the deep canyons and lofty peaks. Artemis, her Earth-sister, who lived next to her own heart. Artemis, who she could feel with her always and could find in a moment, no matter the distance between them. Artemis, warm and precious and full of light, who guarded her heart close and her secrets closer, and still let in a strange little Martian girl. Artemis, with her mind grey and green splashed with bright, swirling nebulas of purple and yellow—whenever M'gann felt at her worst, she would wrap herself up in the familiar folds of Artemis's mind, like an endless expanse of the softest, warmest blanket, and just stayed like that for a time.

This is what she always felt in the space that belonged to Artemis and Artemis only—where, with a strangled cracking sensation, is suddenly, terrifyingly dimmed.

The pure shock of it smashes her back into full awareness, though she's so disoriented at first that she can only twist in the water and struggle to understand what has happened. M'gann reaches back into the gasping silence only to recoil violently; she can hear nothing but the faintest resonance of Artemis's mind, rapidly receding from her.

Far louder is the echo of her own scream, repeating over and over and over. Only she can't be screaming, she's underwater, she's not really hearing anything except for her own nightmare repeating over and over like an old scratched record, the nightmare she had unwittingly inflicted and tried so desperately to forget. She has gills, she knows she does, but suddenly she understands—as she never has before—what humans mean when they say 'it felt like I was drowning' because the water is closing in on her and she can't _breathe, where is Artemis, she can't find Artemis_—

She races toward the light but really she's heading to the last place she had felt Artemis's mind fitting snugly against hers, like fingers intertwined, where now there is only a jagged, widening void.

She reaches the others and Conner's mind is pulsing, blaring, stuttering on its own shock, while Nighwing's mind is full of half-formed thoughts crashing together and hiding behind each other, but the space where Artemis should be is now resoundingly empty, silent, but still the loudest of them all and if she has to feel all this for one second more she is going to _scream_—

No sound comes out.

She thinks, _Not again._

For the first time in years, M'gann consciously blocks herself from all psychic connections. For a moment she drifts, severed and directionless, before plunging recklessly into the space that should have been Artemis. She searches for something, for anything, that might call her Earth-sister back to her. All she finds is that endless echo of her own screams, past and present converging in the push-pull swells of a tropical tsunami, threatening to crush her utterly in their unrelenting, unyielding, unpitying force—and she understands then that no, this, _this_ must be drowning.

Conner can't hear Artemis's heartbeat.

She thinks, _This can't be real._

This is her poorly-buried nightmare brought back in living color. This is the world ending, all at once and piece by piece. This is losing her mind and dragging the ones she loves down into the abyss with her. This is the abyss staring back at her and _laughing_.

This is Artemis lying prone and bloody on a beach. This is Artemis consumed by a burning white light. This is Artemis gone. This is Artemis not gone, only asleep.

The past and present warp, twist, fold enticingly around each other, and between one heartbeat and the next, hope catches treacherous on her tongue.

She thinks, _Wake up, M'gann._

Nightwing stops counting, stops pressing, stops breathing. Nightwing says the words she doesn't want to hear, the words she refuses to believe, and something threatens to erupt from beneath her skin.

She thinks, _Wake up._

She wants to scream, _she's not dead!_ She wants to scream, _don't give up on her!_ She wants to scream, _open your eyes! _She wants to scream, _you can't leave me!_ She wants to scream, _I can't lose you again!_

No sound comes out.

She thinks, _Please wake up_.

She doesn't wake up.

* * *

Dick carries her body, and it _hurts_ to see her like that—limp and broken.

This is not like last time. Last time Conner had been too wrapped up in himself, barely able to process or comprehend or spare emotion for anyone else. Now, it all strikes far too close, and he is left bewildered in the wake of this unthinkable tragedy. Now, the rage and pain he feels echoes strongly the kind of all-consuming emotions he used to be entirely subject to, back when he was only just learning how to be a real person, except this time it's all for someone else.

Artemis, who went out of her way to make sure he and M'gann both knew that, alien heritage or not, she loved them just as dearly as her any of her Earthling friends. Artemis, who had as many trust issues and messed up parental relationships as he did. Artemis, who would put her life on the line for her team, and _had,_ time and time again. Artemis, brash and brave always willing to give it her all.

Artemis, dead.

Nightwing brings her—the body, really, but he shudders at the thought—to the back of the Bioship, perhaps to spare Conner and M'gann having to look, perhaps to be with her privately. Whatever his motive, Conner is at a bit of a loss, because M'gann makes no move toward the pilot's seat. Instead, the ship has arranged itself in a once-familiar formation—she sits in the seat that, once upon a time, had most often held their now fallen friend.

M'gann hasn't stopped crying, and he doesn't think she will any time soon. (His fingers itch to reach for hers; he clenches them into a fist and pretends not to notice.) He wonders if she evens remembers that her fishy boyfriend was kidnapped too—he won't be the one to remind her. Maybe he's a little vindictive, but he can't bring himself to care when his family has just been shattered beyond repair. They've lost people before, to choice and betrayal and sacrifice and evil, but this is like nothing they've faced before.

Artemis always seems—seemed, it's seemed now—so much larger than life. Not unfailable, not unshakable, but certainly unbreakable. Vibrant and prickly and loyal to a fault, it has always been easy to forget how vulnerable she truly is—_was_—without powers, her only protection her own skills and training and ultimately fragile body. She looks so small now, cradled against Nightwing's chest.

One thing is absolutely certain: Aqualad should watch his back, the next time they meet.

No one seems inclined to move forward. Conner sits in the pilot's chair and flies them, broken and beaten and fewer in number, home.

* * *

Her communicator wakes her, ringing shrilly from her nightstand. She's up and moving before she fully registers the sound.

It's the emergency ringtone. She lurches for it.

"Zatanna."

"Zee, it's Nightwing." She knows his next words are going to be terrible before he says them. Sure, it's the emergency line, but it's his voice that gives him away. "We need you and Rocket at the Cave, ASAP."

An alien invasion wouldn't have made his voice tremble like that.

"What's going on?" she asks as she turns on the light. Raquel stirs beside her sleepily.

"I don't want to tell you like this."

"Nightwing. Tell me." There's a pause on the line, and she can practically hear him trying to find a way out of this. They have too much history for that to work though.

"It's Artemis," he finally gets out, and his voice cracks when he says her name in a way she hasn't heard in a while. "We're en route, half an hour tops. Please, just be there. Nightwing out."

She wastes precious seconds on inaction, unable to process the million possible scenarios flooding her head.

"What's wrong?" Raquel asks, rousing herself.

"Artemis," she says, and the name trips over the dread choking her throat. "Something's wrong with Artemis. We have to go."

Raquel is up and digging through her drawers before she even finishes speaking. In any other situation, Zatanna would hug her fiercely; as it is, she can't even remember the spell to change out of her sleepwear, and instead wastes more time in her closet.

They arrive to painful silence. The young Team crowds the living area, distressed and confused. No one seems to know how to react to M'gann's quiet, gutted sobs, the loudest noise in the room. They echo in the empty spaces.

Zatanna grips Raquel's hand tightly.

Conner makes eye contact with them for a moment and acknowledges them with a nod. He looks to M'gann, but she seems oblivious to everything around her. His eyes close for a moment, and then he moves toward the middle of the room.

"There's no good way to say this, so I'm just going to say it: we went up against Black Manta's forces tonight. We lost two of our team mates. They took Lagoon Boy, but they killed—" his voice cracks, and M'gann cries harder. "They killed Artemis. _Kaldur_ killed Artemis."

The air trembles—but maybe that's just the breath trapped in her lungs. Beside her, Raquel gasps and covers her mouth, and suddenly being touched in any capacity is excruciating; she backs away from everyone, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off this nightmare.

Reality is breaking down around her, but it wouldn't be the first time. Not a day goes by where she doesn't miss her father (even—especially—when he's standing right next to her), but over the years the pain had become a bit more manageable. Bearable. Now it strikes her so strongly she nearly buckles.

He would know what to do.

Maybe this will be one of those times where she has the magic words to fix it. (This is a battle she's lost before. Not again. Not Artemis. Please not Artemis.)

She closes her eyes. (The dark makes it easy to pretend.) She breathes. (Focus on something here and now.) She spreads her hands. (Shape your will until it shapes the world.)

She says, enunciating carefully under her breath, "Tel siht eb a maerd."

She opens her eyes.

Nothing has changed.

(She doesn't have the magic words to make this right. Useless. Again.)

* * *

Wally has never wanted to punch Dick in the face quite so much as he does right now, watching his girlfriend disappear under the ocean. That's saying a lot, considering how long they've been friends. Considering how long his best friend and his girlfriend have been conspiring to put her in pretty much the most hazardous situation possible.

"We're through the hard part. They're in."

"Who are you kidding?" he sneers. "It only gets more dangerous from here."

All that keeps him from following through on the urge is the certainty that Dick would actually let him do it. Wally has no interest in easing Nightwing's guilt. He deserves every bit of it.

This, however, does nothing to lessen the impulse. Wally heads for the stairs without looking back. Dick follows him down to the warehouse floor, silent.

Dick never could leave well enough alone though.

"So this is how it's going to be, huh?" he says to Wally back. Wally's jaw clenches. "How long have we been friends? And now you won't look at me. You won't even talk to me."

"There's nothing to say."

"Like hell there isn't. You obviously have something to get off your chest. Just _say_ it." A pause. "Don't cut me out like this, Wall-man."

Wally finally turns around. He wishes—not for the first time—that he could actually look his best friend in the eye. Fucking masks. "You already know how I feel about all this, but none of that mattered to you _or_ Artemis before. Why should it now? So no, I really don't have anything to say to you."

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, like Wally's the one being unreasonable here. "Look, I know you're upset—"

"Upset?" Wally lets out a bark of laughter. There's a shade of hysteria to it, but he can't bring himself to care. "Try pissed. Try betrayed. Try scared out of my mind. We were _retired,_ Dick. We were being normal, for once in our messed up, crazy lives. We were _happy_." He gestures sharply, accusingly, at Dick. "And then you came along and dragged her back into it—"

"As I recall, she was pretty quick to jump at the chance to come back. Maybe she wasn't as happy with your 'normal' life as you thought." There's a mean edge to Dick's voice now, and Wally abruptly finds he doesn't give a fuck about Dick's guilt anymore.

He was right; Dick doesn't even try to block his punch to the face. Wally doesn't stop though, and the next swing Dick ducks, turning it into a lunge that brings them both to the floor. They start rolling and grappling fiercely.

"You don't know anything about it! You don't know anything about _her!_" Wally shouts as he tries to kick Dick off of him. For some reason this makes Dick start to laugh, deep and smug and strangely painful. Wally rolls them over, keeps punching even as Dick stops fighting back, just laughing and laughing and laughing; he won't _stop_, damn the bastard.

"You just had to do it, didn't you Dick? There's a reason we left that life!" Without warning Dick's arm lashes up, clocking Wally solidly on the ear.

"You left _me!_"

Dazed, Wally can do nothing but stare at Dick. Their ragged breathing sounds so loud in the sudden silence, but maybe that's just the ringing in his ears. Dick looks away first. He pushes Wally off without resistance, sitting up and hunching over his crossed legs, back turned.

What is he supposed to say to that? "It wasn't like that…"

"I know!" Then, quieter, "I know. But you and Artemis, you guys were—_are_—my best friends. After you left, it just…wasn't the same."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Dick turns his head to the side, smiling bitterly. "How could I? You two were—you were happy."

They sit in silence for a while, stewing in their own separate thoughts. Finally, Wally shares softly, "I'm terrified she's going to die, or get in over her head, or just…never come back to me."

Dick turns around fully and reaches out toward him, but Wally leans away. He's not ready for sympathy just yet. Dick's hand hovers in midair, then drops back in his lap.

"I know. I'm scared for her too. So many things could go wrong." He fiddles absently with the buttons on his wristband. "But she thinks the risks are worth it, so we have to trust her."

Wally lets out a sigh that scrapes him raw from the inside out. "It won't stop me from worrying constantly."

"Me either. Not to mention keeping all this from everyone else." He stands decisively, reaching out his hand again and offering it to Wally. "But it'll be easier together."

He stares at it for a moment before shaking his head and standing on his own. "Not yet, Dick. Maybe soon, but—not yet."

Dick frowns at him. "I miss her too, Wally."

"I know."

He needs to leave. They've reached a bit of an understanding, he supposes, but the anger and the helplessness hasn't just gone away. Being near Dick right now won't do any good anything either, so he says goodbye and beats a tactical retreat before something happens that they'll really regret.

His rental car is in the lot where he (they) left it. He gets in the driver's seat and tries not to picture Artemis sitting in his place. (She'd driven them here from the safehouse where Dick had stashed her, and he'd gripped her hand tightly the whole way, so tightly their knuckles turned white, but she hadn't complained.)

He dreads going home, where every inch of space will do nothing but remind him of her.

Wally sighs wearily and rests his head on the steering wheel. After a few moments of suspended numbness, he starts the engine and heads toward Gotham instead. Somebody has to tell Paula.

* * *

Few things in Jade's life could have been said to ever truly belong to her—she had learned very early on that either you took what you wanted or some else took it first, and this was a rule that had held firm her entire life.

It meant something then, that she knew from the moment her mother placed the small, wrinkly, squalling thing in her arms, that Artemis belonged to her, now and forever.

(She had quieted slowly, finally settling herself against Jade. Her eyes had opened, wide and unfocused, and looked up. Little tufts of flyaway cornsilk stuck up from her head at odd angles. One tiny hand rose in the air, waving unsteadily. Jade had reached out, pressing one finger against the small palm, and immediately it was gripped in a surprisingly strong little fist. )

That was the beginning.

This is the end:

She knows something is wrong as soon as Roy walks in the door. He's so distracted that he doesn't see her until she moves, and so tense that he jumps when she does. His eyes skip to hers in surprise, but his whole body jerks again and he stares hard at the wall instead.

"Roy," she says, and waits. A shudder runs through his shoulders at some chill she can't feel, and she works very hard not to show how closely she is paying attention now. Her wayward husband picks up Lian from her high-chair, and she gurgles unconcernedly at him as he sits down heavily.

She's starting to feel that chill. Still, she waits. (She has a lot of practice at waiting.) Instead she traces the paths of tension throughout his body with her eyes.

The thing about Roy is, he's not hers. He's never been hers, not really; she has no illusions now about that. He's always been too wrapped up in his own driving obsessions to make room in which another person could live for long—though he certainly tries, off and on. Then again, Jade is similar in a way. She has little room inside her for other people, because, and here's another life lesson: making room for other people will get you stupid or killed or both.

But Lian is hers, an unlooked for gift, and if Roy is not Jade's then he sure as hell will be Lian's.

Roy holds their daughter on his lap and, despite the shiver of unease hanging like malice in the room, for just a moment all she thinks is: _this is my family_.

Then, as with all things worth hanging on to, the moment is shattered.

"Artemis is dead."

And the world just stops.

When one has nothing to lose, how does one prepare for losing it anyway?

Jade couldn't say. She's trying to find her tongue, her fingers, her feet, her lungs, but all seem to have abandoned her, the damn traitors.

Artemis.

_You're my little sister. I don't want you dead._

Dead.

Blindly, she stumbles forward and sinks onto the couch beside Roy. She reaches for her child with numb hands. For a heartbeat she is met with resistance; then Roy lets go, and Jade pulls her baby to her tightly—the only good thing she has left in this goddamn cruel world.

Lian giggles at her mother and reaches up, and Jade automatically presses an absent finger into the tiny, waving palm. It closes in a grip that's surprisingly strong, and distantly Jade feels her breath catch, because—

Her daughter will never know her sister, and that thought alone makes her want to tear the world apart with her teeth.

But first, she must find her voice, and her purpose.

"Who."

Roy holds very still, and he does not look at her. (This tells her more already than he'd probably like.)

"There was—a mission. She came out of retirement for Ni—for this mission. No one even knew, she didn't tell anyone but the Team. They were defending the CommSat, nothing big, nothing they haven't done a thousand times. Then they were…they were attacked, and things went wrong, but they were doing okay until—"

He stops, and she waits, but he seems unable to go on.

"Roy," she says again, serenely, "Who. Killed. My. Sister."

The name shudders out on his breath. "Kaldur."

"Kaldur. Your old friend. The former Aqualad." None of these are questions. She knows very well who he is. She'd taken a very personal interest in this Team, once upon a time.

He looks at her, finally, urgently. "Listen to me Jade, whatever it sounds like—Kaldur couldn't do this. He _couldn't_."

"Last I heard, he hasn't exactly been walking the straight and narrow as of late. He's been playing house with daddy dearest." Still, her voice is eerily calm, a calm that Jade grips with the tips of her fingernails, because she can't lose it now. She _can't_. (Her head is buzzing, her lungs are burning.)

She has too much to do right now.

Lian is toying with her knuckle, and Jade smiles at her; she imagines that it is a cold, frightening thing to behold. It is a smile that she has carefully cultivated over the years, ever since she named herself.

Lian smiles back, warm and precious.

"I know! I—I know." His voice cracks. "But Kaldur—he's the best man I've ever known. He…he _was_ the best man I've ever known. I don't know where that man has gone, but he can't have…he'd never…" Roy makes a sound of helpless frustration, a man confronted with a reality which he would otherwise deem impossible. Jade recognizes the sound well; she can feel it building in her own throat. She pushes it away sharply.

"Tell me, do you trust your source as much as you trust your old friend?"

Once again, Roy is silent.

"I thought so. You see, Roy, I don't much care who killed her, or whose fault it is. Feel free to find me another target. Just know that, whoever they are and whatever else they've done, they will pay for her death. Quite dearly, in fact."

"Kaldur couldn't have done it." He might have been talking to her, or he might have been trying to convince himself. "She is—" For a moment his voice catches, but he keeps speaking. "She _was_ his team. He loved her, for god's sake. She was his family."

"No, Roy. She was _my_ family."

Jade has a picture, carefully protected and hidden in the bag that she keeps anything she wouldn't want to leave behind in an emergency. In this picture, Artemis can't be more than three; Jade herself must be about eight. Even then, her younger self had a harsh knowledge in her eyes and a scowl on her lips.

Artemis had been far less aware, of course, and remained that way as long as Jade could help it. All she had was as much joy as her tiny toddler body could contain, her stupid teddy in one hand and her sister in the other, smiling up at Jade like she could imagine nothing better.

Their father had taken the picture, at their mother's request. What Jade remembers is looking at the camera, holding her sister's hand as tightly as she could, and thinking viciously at the lens and the face behind it, '_mine.'_

Which was exactly why Jade had left her behind. There was no place for a kid where she was going, and no way she could take care of both Artemis and herself. For everything else that he did, at least with their father her baby sister was guaranteed a roof over her head and a meal in her belly. At the very least, she'd have that.

That was what Jade had told herself, whenever doubt would creep in to keep her company; she always ignored the cruel little voice that whispered, _so why did you run away?_

_Because in this family, it's every girl for herself._

That's what Jade had told herself, whenever she'd steal back and lurk out on their old fire escape. Some nights Artemis would come in so tired and sore she'd flop into bed and fall asleep instantly. Some nights, she would cry herself to sleep. And some nights, she would read that old, beat-up copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ until her eyes crossed and she fell asleep with the book in her lap and her fingers creasing the spine.

(Here's another item in Jade's emergency bag: an old, beat-up copy of _Alice in Wonderland_. Not the one she used to read to Artemis until her hand cramped and her voice ran hoarse; it was just one that had caught her eye in the free books bin of a library she had stopped in to get out of the cold. She just so happened to be feeling particularly homesick—_weak_—at the time. She reads it to Lian sometimes, when her baby's being fussy.)

Every night she went back was the hardest in its own way, and she was never certain which outcome was the worst. Eventually, she stopped going back all together. (Eventually, it became too dangerous—too many people who would just love a way to hurt the rising Cheshire.)

Maybe if she had taken Artemis with her, all those years ago—but it's useless to think that way. Useless and deadly. Get stuck on the infinite might-have-beens, each more fanciful and indulgent than the last, and you lost sight of what you needed to do right now.

She has too much to do right now.

Roy must have left the room at some point, while she was lost in thought. That's all right; he would be back. Jade knew he would be. This is too important to him. Artemis, his sister in every way but blood, is too important to him.

Jade tucks her daughter closer, stroking soft, flyaway hair. "Don't worry, little rabbit," she coos. "Mama will find the ones that did this to Aunty Artemis. Mama will find them and make them pay. Off with their heads!" Lian gurgles happily, and the universe almost feels right again. Almost.

Maybe she wouldn't have to tear apart the _whole_ world. Maybe just one man would do. (Perhaps she'd stock up on jellyfish poison. She can appreciate the poetry of it.)

Jade smiles, and shows all her teeth.

* * *

Her eldest daughter has not visited in a long time. It used to be that Paula had to rely on Artemis for news, though even that often proved unreliable; Jade sometimes vanished for months on end with no word. It was just a part of the life her family had chosen.

She thought that maybe Artemis would be safe from that, now. She should have known: no one in their family was safe.

"Mama," is all Jade says, appearing in the doorway like a ghost, face still as stone but her voice wavers ever so slightly; there is a question there, a question with a terrible answer. Tears fill Paula's eyes, fierce and sudden and uncontrollable. They have been doing that a lot lately.

(Wally had showed up in the middle of the night, face lined and eyes dark; she'd known before he'd even opened his mouth, because what else would bring him here, at this time, without her daughter? He says the words anyway, and they're the ones she's been secretly dreading ever since Batman and Green Arrow had shown up in her apartment and offered Artemis the opportunity at an entirely different life—but she should have been safe now, at college and happy and _normal_.

Wally took her hands, eyes shadowed with guilt, and promised to stay.)

"I know, baby, I know." Jade's mask slips, cracks, falls to the floor, and doesn't make a sound. She throws herself into Paula's lap, as she has not done since she was a very, very small child. Her shoulders shake violently, and she does not try to quiet herself. Paula tries to comfort her, but all she can do is join.

_My baby,_ she thinks. _My beautiful, beautiful baby._

The Nguyen women have always been strong, but nothing could have prepared them for the loss of their own.

In time, Jade cries herself out. Paula tenderly wipes the tears from her face.

"I'm going to get him, Mama," she whispers into her lap, voice hoarse and hard. "I'm going to make him pay."

Paula doesn't ask who. That is a road she cannot allow herself to travel anymore—and never has she cursed her useless legs more. She will have to honor her lost daughter in other ways, and rely on her present daughter to bring justice to their broken family.

She closes her eyes.

"Does Lawrence know yet?"

Jade scoffs bitterly. "Who knows? Who cares? I doubt he will."

"Your father is a hard man, but I do not think he will take the death of a child lightly." If nothing else, Artemis was _his_. (Artemis was _hers._)

"I don't care what he does, as long as he doesn't get in my way."

And that's that.

Paula holds her baby close and prays for strength. Jade spends the night, a blessing amidst the nightmare, but is gone in the morning like so many shadows.

* * *

Dinah tries to break the news to Oliver as gently as she can, but nothing she could have said would have made this feel less like she punched him right in the gut. That might even have been kinder.

Artemis. Dead.

There is no air in his lungs, there is no air in the room, there is no air on the whole damn planet because Artemis is dead and he hadn't been there, he hadn't even known she was coming out of retirement—hadn't she and Kid Flash decided to get out of the game while they were still ahead? But she had come back and he hadn't known and oh god now she was dead—

Somewhere amidst all this he's collapsed on his couch; Dinah is holding him and whispering meaningless comforts into his ear—meaningless because all the platitudes in the world would not bring one dead girl back to life.

One dead girl. Not just any dead girl. She may not have been his first protégée, and she might not be his last, but in her time with him, Artemis Crock had crossed into something closer to his own flesh-and-blood. She had wanted to learn so badly, and she had wanted to learn from _him_, to please him and make him proud and prove herself to him. She tried so hard at everything, and god help him but it had been endearing. Hell, she had a key to every safehouse he had in the country, not to mention his actual home, should she ever need some place to go.

Artemis had been practically a daughter to him.

And now she was dead.

(He doesn't find his tears until a little over a week later, when he's cleaning out a random closet and there they are: her emergency bow and quiver full of arrows, all in perfect condition just like he'd shown her. He had offered to give them back to her once she'd retired, but she'd only smiled and told him to hang onto them for her, "just in case."

He can't put them down, he can't catch his breath, he can't stop the tears running down his face and into his gasping mouth. Heartbreak tastes like salt and failure.)

He cannot bring himself to move, even long after Dinah has gone to bed; then, quite suddenly the thought of sitting still for another moment is positively unbearable. He's donning his costume before he even realizes what he's doing, and by that point he can't stop.

Crime doesn't sleep, but neither does he, for nights and nights and nights. There's always some low-life scum just waiting to be caught, and every arrow he lets fly carries with it her name—again and again and again.

* * *

Lawrence hasn't spoken to or seen his eldest daughter in months—either of his wayward children, for that matter—and yet here she is. Well, if he taught her anything, it was her stealth.

"And to what do I owe this gracious honor?" He bites down on each word. Faithless things, his daughters. He never expected their love—had made sure they both knew that well and good—but he expected their loyalty. Blood should mean something to them; he made them, after all, took soft little girls and forged them into weapons that could survive in his world.

Jade says nothing. Her face is tight though; clearly whatever message she carries is not one she wants to deliver. He wonders idly who put her up to it.

"Well? Spit it out, girl." Her eyes drop down and away, and he would shake her if he thought she would let him get that close.

"Artemis is dead."

Whatever words he might have said stick firmly in his throat; it hardly matters though, for between one breath and the next, Jade is already gone. Heartless child. He taught her well.

Sportsmaster carries on with his day. The death of one girl does not make the world stop, much less the plans of the Light. If he contemplates in passing whether Paula has been told yet, it is no one's business but his own.

That night, Lawrence goes home to his perpetually bare apartment; if he does not sleep, no one but he is there to know.

* * *

One moment there is nothing, and the next she slams back into consciousness. For a moment, all she can appreciate is being _alive._ Then—

"Way to get traught," is the first thing she says, which she thinks is pretty clever for someone who'd just come back from the dead. Point to Artemis.

Dick just stares at her for a moment, then he does this choking gasp that could have been a laugh as easily as a sob. Artemis tries to get up, and he pulls himself together enough to gently ease her into a sitting position. He doesn't let go of her arms, and Artemis is content to just focus on the feeling of sweet oxygen filling her lungs.

Suddenly Dick does perhaps the most ungraceful lunge she's ever seen him make, falling forward until he's got her wrapped in a hug so tight she loses her breath all over again. She isn't normally huge on the touchy-feely stuff, but Dick has always had a flair for the dramatic so she decides to let him hold her for a while. She even hugs him back, and if her arms are nearly as tight, well, she did just die.

"Don't scare me like that," he mumbles into her hair. Which is probably a terrible mess, actually.

"Yeah, well, I've had plenty of practice." She tries to smile around the stiffness of her lungs, though it may be a losing battle. "Remember that time in Stockholm—"

"I'd really rather not."

She chuckles a bit, which turns out to be a bad idea as she immediately starts hacking horribly. Which of course only makes him hover more, rubbing her back in soothing circles as she works through it.

"Never again," she mutters as she catches her breath. "I am never pretending to die again. Waaaaay too much hassle."

He huffs and finally cracks a smile at her. Another point to Artemis.

Okay, enough of this floor business. It takes her a little while to situate all her limbs and get them under control, but eventually she's able to stand with only minimal assistance from Dick. (Doesn't stop him from acting like she'll collapse again any moment, but she's learned to pick her battles.)

"Well," she says while giving her back a good crack and flex, limbering up. "time to get this show on the road, eh?"

"Sure," he agrees, but still he hesitates.

"Dick." He looks at her. "There's no going back now."

He flinches. "I know, I know. I just wish…"

She tries to smile reassuringly, but it's not exactly her forte, is it? "I know what I'm getting into Dick. Trust me." He pulls her back into a hug suddenly, like he never wants to let her go, and she pats his back awkwardly. Eventually he releases her, but he keeps his hands on her shoulders, squeezing.

"I do. I really do." She can't see his eyes of course, but she's gotten pretty good at reading him around the domino mask. He means every word, and that means more to her than she'd ever say. Well. Point to Dick.

"Take care of yourself, Wonder Boy." She reaches up and touches his cheek, unsure but compelled to do _something_. (When did he get so damn tall?) "And take care of the rest of them. I mean, I know you will, but they're going to need you more than ever. And—" she glances away, but then meets his eyes again, "take care of Wally too. He won't want you to, of course, but I worry about him being on his own right now. He's not too happy about all this, as I'm sure you're aware."

He snorts, then covers her hand with his own (why is it still there?), holding it to his face. He smiles softly at her, and she can't do anything but smile back, despite the circumstances. She's all too aware that, for all intents and purposes, this is goodbye. That, and she knows him too well.

"I mean it, you idiot. Take care of yourself." She pokes him in the chest, effectively breaking the…whatever moment they were just having, but this is too important to let him slide. "This is going to be tough on all of us, but you'll be taking the brunt of our friends. Don't get trapped in your own head."

"Please, Artemis, I'm a big boy. I can handle this." He cranks up the smile to that blinding brilliance he always favored when he particularly wanted to misdirect attention. "Trust me."

She rolls her eyes. Point to Dick. "With my life."

And there's that gentle smile again. "Yeah." And then time seems to still around them. In this one moment, there's no lingering past and no pressing future, only this one present moment.

Well, if this goes on they'll never make it to Blüdhaven on time.

"Come on dorkface, let's get to the safehouse."

He wrinkles his nose at her in amusement, then executes an elegant and entirely melodramatic bow. (The effect us slightly diminished by the lack of cape.) "After you, milady."

She whaps him on the side of the head in passing, making her way outside. "You never learned the meaning of overkill, did you?"

He rubs his head and pouts pathetically, following after her. "I have learned a great many things, oh cruel mistress. Such as: anything worth doing should be done well and thoroughly, pick a course of action and commit to it, no point in doing anything half-way…"

He continues spouting useless information at her, all the way to Blüdhaven. There's still an undercurrent of tension, things left unsaid, things that have happened and things they both know will. But at least his chatter lets them pretend until they get there.

And they do. Eventually, inevitably, they do.

This is it. Time to let the real show begin.

Point to Artemis.


End file.
